Breakfast At Hermione's
by Beckalee
Summary: Draco Malfoy moves into the same residence as his old classmate, Hermione Granger. Mix in Narcissa Malfoy, Crookshanks and cigarettes. BANG! The world of Audrey Hepburn and George Peppard with a Harry Potter twist! Theme Song: 'Moon River' sung by H.G.
1. Chapter One

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The original book and film "Breakfast At Tiffany's" from which this story is based on belongs to Truman Capote, Paramount Classics and its stars Audrey Hepburn and George Peppard.

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**Breakfast at Hermione's**

**Chapter One

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**

The Astaire Housing Estate was unlike any other residential complex in England. Only the wealthiest among the Wizarding world's nouveau riche could afford one of the pretentious apartments. (The old money would rather stay in their crumbling stately homes of wizarding England.) The upscale flats weren't set up in the usual massive blocks; two apartments, one on top of the other, consisted as one estate, and only twelve estates existed in this pleasant cul-de-sac. Each apartment boasted a spacious living room, dining area, kitchen and three luxurious bedrooms with adjoining bathrooms, ready for house-elf service. If these generous appointments were not adequate, the owner could always (for a fee to the Housing authority, of course) add an extra room or two with a flick of his wand. A Silencing Charm blanketed each flat with an extra layer of privacy, so that breaking glass, raucous arguments, wild parties, and the occasional homicide would stay within the walls of each home and not detract from the overall picture of tranquillity valued by the residents of Astaire Estate.

So it began, late on a warm October afternoon. The leaves had not yet started to change colours and a cheerful breeze flittered around the residence. The sounds of moving filled the otherwise quiet air, announcing to the neighbours that somebody was moving into the top complex of _Astaire, Country Quatre_…

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A blindingly blonde-haired man dressed head-to-toe in black stood waiting for someone or something to open the door in front of him. He had just wasted ten seconds rapping sharply on the brass knocker, and now some vacant-minded little house-elf was making him wait even longer. He shifted from foot to foot as ten more seconds stretched out, and, just as he was about to leave to search for someone to complain to, the door opened.

A dishevelled brown head poked out the front door of the flat, looking bleary eyed, barely awake, but definitely (and not unpleasantly) female. She regarded him for a moment, looking confused, then shook her bushy head.

"May I help you?" she said hazily, yawning widely, so that it came out more like "Maha haya?"

"Hello," he answered politely. "I'm sorry to wake you. I've just moved into the apartment above and wanted to introduce myself." Extending out a hand, he said, "My name is Dra -"

A deafening crash sounded from inside the apartment. She turned around and groaned. "Oh, Crookshanks!" An orange cat-shaped blur tore through the living room, chasing a slightly quicker mouse and knocking down a potted hydrangea with another thunderous smash.

The young man regarded the apartment with distaste. He had never seen such clutter in his life. An assortment of household objects lay strewn across the floor and the carpet was barely visible amongst the junk. It may have resembled his new place, but at least he had the excuse of just moving in. But this –

The woman turned back towards her new neighbour. Mistaking his aversion, she said, "Oh, please don't think Crookshanks is mean or has a temper or anything of the sort. He's really very sweet, but terribly curious. And mice are such a rare occurrence." She smiled. "Why don't you come in and see for yourself, Drake? You did say that was your name, right - Drake?"

"My name's not Drake. It's -"

Drake, correctly known as Draco Malfoy, was yet again interrupted in his introduction. This time, there was a loud metallic scraping sound as Crookshanks bounded across the room, power cord wrapped around his back paw, trailing the broken lamp behind him.

"Oh Crookshanks," she sighed again. Opening the front door wider, she ushered Draco in.

Draco stepped warily inside. _Someone could seriously use a house-elf! Surely she can afford one, living here. Even a quick spell could fix this!_

"Have you…been here long?" he asked.

"Six months," she stated.

Draco raised his snowy eyebrows at the awful mess and the unopened boxes here and there being used as furniture. Catching his gaze, she simply shrugged and said, "I'm busy."

"Too busy to send for a house-elf? Or maybe you can't perform any domestic spells because your wand is in one of these..." He waved vaguely at the boxes scattered everywhere.

"I don't believe in treating house-elves as servants," she replied stiffly, ignoring his second question.

"Well, you need something around here to be -"

Yet another interruption as the apartment was filled with a harsh ringing sound. Draco watched his new neighbour flitting around the room, looking under cushions and opening boxes. Finally, she found what she was looking for: a telephone inside a sewing box. Draco stared. _Who keeps their telephone in a sewing box?_ He frowned. _And what kind of a witch uses a telephone, anyway?_

"What is it? Oh no!" He heard her panicked gasp down the receiver. "It's Thursday!" she shouted at Draco, as if his life depended on knowing that.

The instant she was off the telephone, she was rushing around her apartment: rapidly pinning up her hair, brushing her teeth and dressing in a new outfit with a practiced whip of her wand, which she appeared to use very skilfully. Draco had long since stopped being annoyed at being ignored, and found himself intrigued by this cyclonic witch.

"Drake," she said in passing as she bit a stale-looking bun in half and washed it down with half a cup of tea, "would you be so kind as to fetch me my shoes? They're the emerald green kitten heels under the bed," she told him without even looking at him, and padded off towards the kitchen.

Reluctantly, Draco went in search of her shoes. He had originally decided it would be best to befriend his new neighbour; she might prove to be useful later on. His pale eyebrows furrowed as he rummaged underneath her bed. It was crowded with rubbish; _if the legs ever fell off the bed_, he mused, _the rubbish could keep the mattress at the right height_. He found old issues of the Daily Prophet, robes and under-robes that could have belonged to either a witch or wizard, a well-chewed rubber dragon that obviously belonged to the cat, a number of dusty and petrified pomfrits, and a plaster model of human teeth.

A minute later, he still hadn't found the shoes. The woman had realised this too and popped her head round the doorway.

"You still haven't found them? Why didn't you just use a spell?" she asked. "Never mind. I'll do it myself. _Accio emerald green kitten heels_!"

Her shoes came flying out from under the bed, missing Draco's nose by mere inches. He scowled as he got up, brushing the dust from his previously immaculate trousers.

Draco was about to say the reason why he hadn't used a spell was because he was sure that his tongue would fall out if he ever tried to make it say, "emerald green kitten heels." But even as he watched her very nicely formed ankles slip into her shoes, his curiosity was waging war with his annoyance. He certainly didn't appreciate how she made him feel like a fool. He was annoyed but he was damned if he would let it show.

Politeness didn't come easily to Draco; he had to work harder at manners than he had to work at Transfiguration. Over the past few years, however, he had become adept at hiding his bad humour, realizing quickly once he got out into the world that the Malfoy name alone would not buy him favour or respect. Draco had learned to curb his harsh tongue, and learned the hard way after some embarrassing professional blunders. Besides, he didn't think lashing out at his neighbour would be the best way to gain her friendship.

"I would offer you some breakfast but I'm in a hurry," she said, dusting off her shoes with a dubious-looking kitchen towel. "Perhaps a rain check?"

_Old tea and stale bread_, he thought; _I can hardly wait_. "Erm - sure," he replied.

"You can let yourself out. I had best be off."

Something occurred to him. "Excuse me, miss? What's your name?"

She blinked at him, as if just now realising that she hadn't introduced herself. Draco grounded his teeth. "Hermione," she replied, pulling on her gloves. "Hermione Granger." And she Disapparated.

Draco froze as it suddenly hit him as to why his new neighbour had appeared so familiar. It took him several seconds to feel the cat clawing his trouser leg.

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Currently, I have to thank Fatima Khalifa for her amazing contributions to this story. She has helped me develop each chapter in ever aspect possible. Of course, I don't know how long she will stay with me but hopefully till the end of "Breakfast At Hermione's". She is much loved and appreciated! I also have to thank Patrick Drazen for his wonderful humorous inputs into my chapters! I'm not very adept at humour, unfortunately, apart from the occasional comment. Let us also hope he will complete the journey of this story with me.

- The Astaire Housing Estate was an idea developed from my first reviews of my first draft. Readers got confused as to why Hermione was so openly using magic. So, I created wizarding complexes to solve the problem. The name of the estate is taken from Fred Astaire. I am following an Old Hollywood theme for names for all sorts of things that are to be created for this story.


	2. Chapter Two

**Breakfast at Hermione's**

**Chapter Two****

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The sun was glaring; Hermione slipped on her sunglasses as she strolled down the street. Her new neighbour seemed a nice enough person, and he was fairly attractive, too: tall, self-assured, hair so blonde it hurt your eyes. She hadn't inspected him closely, but he appeared to have a permanent scowl on his face. Well, Hermione decided, perhaps she could change that.

Drake had reminded her of someone she'd once known – but she couldn't place who. The thought nagged at her as she made her way through the cobbled lanes. At the crosswalk Hermione stood in place for a few seconds, pondering her next move. She glanced idly at her watch, a gift from an admiring member of the Beauxbatons faculty, and started in realization, nearly jumping into traffic. "Oh no! I'm late!" she exclaimed, and hurried towards her destination.

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Draco shook his head to wake himself from his stunned stupor. _Hermione Granger_ – of all the people in the world – was to become his neighbour. Unbelievable. He would never have thought he'd set eyes on that malicious Mudblood again once they'd graduated from Hogwarts. Now, they were living next door to one another. 

Draco was curious as to why Hermione had just left him in her apartment. Wasn't she worried that he could be a burglar, or some raving lunatic, or a spy for the Ministry? She had changed, that was undeniable, but he found it hard to believe she had changed somuch. She must have installed some sort of enchantment around the flat; he'd heard that just about everyone who lived at Astaire had wards and charms and curses on just about every inch, for appearance's sake if for no other reason. He was intrigued as to which ones she had used, since he couldn't imagine her _not_ using them.

She certainly knew how to dress, and with class, which was more than he could have said about her back at Hogwarts. Her clothes weren't cheap either; they had the distinctive style Draco recognized from his mother's own wardrobe. And no one could fault either Narcissa Malfoy's taste or her budget. Some of Hermione's dresses were even marked with the emblem of his mother's favourite designer; she had several wardrobes full of Samunair Vientoi's garments.

Taking an interesting-looking book off the nearest bookshelf, he found it had been autographed by the author, a prominent lecturer in theoretical magic. "Glad to see you could keep up with my theories," he had written, "and I wish I could have kept up with your…"

Before he could decipher the last scribbled word, Draco felt the cat's claws sink into his leg. He angrily shook off the beast, drew his wand, and was about to spell it into a pot roast when the cat gave a low throaty growl, utterly unafraid of the wand.

_That figures_, he thought as he put up his wand; _a Kneazle, one of the best Dark detectors and burglar alarms in the wizarding world._ He looked back at the inscription:

"…kept up with your explications."

Draco had no idea what the word meant, and smirked, wondering if it was as filthy as it sounded.

Poking about the apartment, he later discovered she also had a full library as well as the several bookcases in each room. _No surprise, really; the Hogwarts faculty were all always going on about how Granger was the brightest witch in her Year, possibly in the history of the school – rubbish!_ Looking again at the dedication, he proceeded out the front door.

"Oof!" he exclaimed as the book socked him in the stomach, knocking him to the floor and leaving him winded as it came flying back into her apartment. Groaning, he stumbled back into the carpeted foyer. _Trust Granger to use a Theft Barrier spell_, he thought. _Only she'd use one of the most advanced ones out there – but then, she always was rather violent when offended_. He grunted as he stood up, remembering the time she had assaulted him in their third year.

He glanced around the flat. Rolling his eyes at the mess, he thought back to her comments - they could barely have been called a conversation. It was just so typical of her to believe in freedom for house elves. _Potter must have really rubbed off on her, the way he stole Dobby._ Draco frowned as the memory came back to him – his father had been in a rage all that week over the loss of his house elf. Draco hadn't seen his father so upset since his grandfather had died when he was nine years old. It wasn't the old reprobate dying that upset Lucius Malfoy, but leaving most of his vast fortune to Draco's aunt. Cassius Malfoy had cursed Lucius, saying that he was a waste of magic and a disgrace to the Malfoy name, having served Lord Voldemort. "We don't _take_ orders," the old wizard shouted, "we _give_ them!" Then, Cassius had proceeded to give all his possessions to one of his daughters, Carina – the daughter who, ironically, had cut ties with her family, denouncing their long association with Dark Magic. At the end of his life, old Cassius himself had changed his way of thinking, and in an unexpected move, cut Lucius' inheritance completely. It was a good thing that his mother had inherited a vast amount of wealth from _her_ parents otherwise they could have been facing the idea of being _poor_! Draco shook his head in disgust at the thought. Being poor was only for those who were blood-traitors and had more children than they could afford, namely the Weasleys.

After the incident, Draco's father had forbidden him to ever have contact with his Aunt Carina after she had forsworn the name of Malfoy – at his sixth birthday party; that argument certainly proved more engrossing than that afternoon's game of Pin the Tail on the Dragon. A few days later, Draco awoke to find a package on his bed from his aunt. She had written a letter apologising for ruining his birthday, saying she hoped her gift was enough to make up for it. Inside the layers of luxurious wrapping paper was a limited edition of his favourite storybook, complete with gold-edged pages and hand-painted illustrations. Draco had treasured that gift far above his others on that birthday, and even now it was one thing from his childhood he had never gotten rid of. He had never shown it to his father or his mother, for fear they would confiscate it. His Aunt Carina had always been his favourite; while he'd been spoiled by all of his various rich relatives, never at a loss for expensive gifts, he had received very few that were given genuinely from the heart, including his gifts from his parents. Carina's absence from his life had been too early on to hurt very deeply, but he had felt the void all his life.

A car honked loudly outside, startling Draco from his reverie. He peered out the apartment's window to see who it was. Narcissa Malfoy stood on the footpath, elaborately dressed in luxurious silk robes, in a whirlwind of tropical colours, her mouth moving constantly while Draco was mercifully unable to hear what she was saying. Beside her was George, their family chauffeur, no doubt responding to his employer's chattering in his usual hypocritically respectful tones. Draco made his way downstairs to greet his mother.

"Draco darling," she cooed. "How are you? Have you settled in yet? Did you see that _gorgeously_ dressed woman who just walked down the street? She was wearing a green Vientoi dress – one of his newest creations! I've been planning on getting one myself," she declared.

Draco nearly choked on his saliva when his mother announced Hermione as a "gorgeously dressed woman". His mother would faint if she realised that Hermione was, in fact, a Muggle-born. He didn't think she would ever be able to comprehend that a Mudblood could possibly know anything about wizarding designer wear.

"No, I didn't see that woman," he lied. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"To see how my darling son is, of course!" she said, planting moist kisses on both of Draco's cheeks. "You _are_ still coming to the Charity Ball tonight, aren't you? You promised me, Draco."

"Yes, Mother. I am."

"Your father will not be able to attend. He has business affairs," she said briskly.

Draco wasn't sure if she meant "business affairs" as in business, or if she was singling out the latter word. It was common knowledge to him that both his parents had affairs. They both apparently loved one another, but from time to time would seem to get caught up in some dalliance or other. Draco couldn't understand their casual approach to infidelity; screams, hexes, and thrown pieces of art he could understand, but not watching his parents stay together year after year and indiscretion after indiscretion, as if the new paramour was just another designer robe to be sampled, shown off, and then banished to a closet. In any case, Draco had vowed long ago never to have an extramarital affair. He wasn't quite sure he believed in the fairy-tale, swept-off-their-feet, passionate and last-a-lifetime marriage, or even if he believed in love. Lust, he knew, existed; knew it better than most, and not just by watching his parents. However, marriage seemed more of a bond of companionship than of love…

"I should go and get ready then. I have an appointment in…" Narcissa glanced at her diamond-studded watch, "half and hour. See you at eight o'clock sharp. Don't be late," she warned, caressing her son's cheek with a puffskien-skin glove that still felt like sandpaper on Draco's cheek.

George stepped round the limousine and opened the door for his mistress. Narcissa glided inside and opened the window. "Draco? Could you wear that _exquisite_ tux I bought you at Christmas? I'll have it sent over. There's someone I want you to meet tonight."

"Oh, Mother," Draco groaned.

"Now, Draco – you're twenty-four years old. The prospect of marriage is looming over your head and your father and I can't have you marry just _anyone_. We have a list of those select few – the right bloodlines, you know – and you'll meet the first girl tonight. She's a stunner, I promise. You won't be disappointed." She closed her window without waiting for a response, and the limousine sped off.

Draco watched the car travel further and further away until it was a tiny speck in the distance. _I guess I'd better get ready, then._ His previous thoughts of Hermione Granger were almost forgotten as he walked up the steps to his new home. Crookshanks had made a deeper impression on him than the Mudblood had.

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** A hundred kisses and hugs to my first reviewers: SerenBunny, Kichou, the girl trapped in a dream, MIDNIGHT-PIXIE, Michele, and Greetings From Hell. This chapter is for you guys because you totally rocked and made my day! Even though I know it doesn't answer all your questions especially about the character shifts! I promise they will come! Enjoy in the mean time! 

- The name of Draco's aunt, Carina, is taken from one of the constellations. Carina was originally part of the large constellation Argo Navis. The Argo Navis has now been split into four parts and Carina is the keel. The others include Vela (the sail), Puppis (the poop) and Pyxis (the compass).

- Cassius Malfoy, Draco's grandfather, was invented by Fatima, during the process of her checking and adding tibits to my story to improve it.

- As you can tell, I have substituted the role of Tooley (Paul Varjack's older girlfriend) for Narcissa Malfoy.


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